


little reminders

by Aintzane411



Category: Static Shock
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, M/M, idk how to tag this tbh imma leave it at that, like lowkey angst tbh, minor injury but yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aintzane411/pseuds/Aintzane411
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set two and a half years after How A Hero Bleeds, but can be read as a one-shot. Richie hasn't cut himself in years, but one bad day leaves him itching for his old habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	little reminders

Richie’s day started out well. He woke up two minutes before his alarm was set to go off feeling refreshed and well-rested. He made himself a good breakfast and packed a lunch for later. He was on time and feeling good.

Until his phone rang. It was his mother. Again. She had been calling frequently, trying to convince him to visit her for Thanksgiving, but he had already made plans with the Hawkins. Every time Maggie called him lately, it always escalated into screaming matches until one of them hung up, and today was no different.

In a significantly worse mood, Richie was now late for class. He left the apartment he and Virgil shared and raced to campus, only to be searching for a parking space for twenty minutes, making him even more late. The rest of his day continued similarly. He got ran into by a skateboarder while walking to his next class. He realized that he left an important assignment at home in his rush to get to school. One after another, the blows kept coming, and by the end of his last class, Richie was ready to scream.

Finally, he was able to leave the god-forsaken campus and head home, where Virgil’s car was already in the driveway. Richie breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be home where he could relax with his boyfriend. When he opened the front door, however, he was greeted by the distinct smell of burnt food coming from the kitchen. He set his things by the door and followed his nose to find Virgil smiling sheepishly as he scraped charred food into the trash can.

“I was trying to surprise you with dinner,” Virgil said, closing the trash can lid and putting the pan in the sink. “But, once again, my cooking skills have failed me.”

Richie chuckled tiredly and rolled up his sleeves. “Well let’s get something else started. I’m starving.” Together, they began making a simple pasta and veggies dinner as they talked about their day.

“So,” Virgil said, trying to stay casual as he filled a pot to boil water. “Your mom called me today.”

Richie groaned. “Really? Now she’s going after you, too!” He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing at the knots in his neck. “I keep fucking telling her to let it go. I already made plans for Thanksgiving and I’m not going to Minnesota this year,” he spat the words bitterly.

“Whoa!” Virgil said, surprised at Richie’s tone. “What’s going on? I knew she was annoying you, but she rarely gets you this mad.”

“Ugh, it’s just been a long day, Virgil.” Richie sighed and began chopping vegetables. “The water’s ready, put the pasta in.”

Virgil did as he was told. “You okay, babe? Tell me about this long day.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’ll help.”

Richie slammed the knife down onto the cutting board and whirled to face Virgil. “I do not want to talk about it, okay, Virgil? Just leave it alone.”

Virgil stirred the pasta and rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Eventually, Virgil left to sit at the kitchen table, where a textbook was waiting, and began to quietly study, leaving Richie to finish dinner. Richie continued to chop vegetables with a fervor, his mind rapidly reliving the events of the day. He grumbled under his breath, and only stopped when he didn’t move his thumb in time and the knife bit into his skin.

A few drops of blood beaded along the shallow cut, and Richie felt a familiar flutter in his stomach. He gently set the knife on the cutting board and moved his hand so he didn’t get blood on the food. He felt his hands start to shake slightly and he struggled to keep himself under control. “Virgil,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Could you grab me a bandaid please?”

Virgil quickly brought him a bandage from their first aid kit, but when he held it out, Richie didn’t take it. He tapped him on the shoulder. “Here, Rich.” When he still didn’t reply, Virgil moved a step closer and placed a hand on Richie’s arm. “Whoa, it’s okay. The cut doesn’t look that deep; it’s not bleeding very much.”

“I…” Richie trailed off, watching a drop of blood roll down his hand and fall to the counter. His eyes were wide, never leaving his hand.

“Richie, are you okay?”

Slowly, Richie shook his head. “Virgil,” he said softly, emotion seeping into his voice. “Virgil I need you to remind me why cutting is bad. Because, fuck, I didn’t do this on purpose but I wish I did, holy shit.”

Virgil’s heart thudded, realizing what was going on. He quickly grabbed a dish towel and covered Richie’s hand, wiping away the blood and finally breaking the trance, causing Richie to look at him through tear-filled eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. Listen to me, all right?” He unwrapped Richie’s hand and placed the bandage over the wound. “It’s bad because you deserve so much better than pain. Because your blood belongs inside of you, where it can do its job. Because your skin has more important things to do than to be a canvas. Because it’s dangerous and you need to stay alive so you can graduate next year. It’s bad because you’ve made it almost three years and I know you can make it through one more day.”

Richie’s hands were still shaking, but Virgil held them in his, and they both ignored the pot that was boiling over next to them. “It’s been almost three years,” Richie repeated, “and it still hits me so strongly sometimes. When will it stop?”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know. But you’ll get through it, I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> haahahaha guess who channels their own feelings into fictional characters guess what it's me! i do! hahahahaahaa look at me being completely mentally healthy over here isn't it great to be neurotypical ah yes


End file.
